


Winged Hearts

by GingerFerret



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boys In Love, Brothers, Dean Winchester-centric, Fluff, Incest (non-graphic), M/M, Presents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:28:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22158601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerFerret/pseuds/GingerFerret
Summary: Dean had always wanted to give Sam a normal Christmas. Just once, a real goddamn happy Christmas with a huge tree decorated so heavily you could hardly see the branches beneath the shimmering, colorful baubles, and twinkling lights, and...tinsel and shit.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	Winged Hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Phoenixontherise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenixontherise/gifts).



> This is my second Sam/Dean fic. Hope you like it. Comments and kudos are highly appreciated <3

Dean had always wanted to give Sam a normal Christmas. Just once, a real goddamn happy Christmas with a huge tree decorated so heavily you could hardly see the branches beneath the shimmering, colorful baubles, and twinkling lights, and...tinsel and shit. Dean didn’t really know much about tree decorating, but he felt like Sam should at least have the opportunity to learn. 

And a turkey. A huge-ass, slow cooked, stuffing-stuffed, crisp skinned, juicy, butter-tender turkey with all the side dishes Sam’s heart could possibly desire. Yeah! And presents! So many presents Sam would get tired from ripping off the paper and would need Dean to help him on Christmas morning, while they had hot chocolate in Christmas themed mugs with a shitload of marshmallows on top. Sitting by the fire in reindeer pajamas and wooly socks, while Dad was singing goddamn Christmas carols from the top of his lungs. 

That was the dream. 

Over the years, Dean had learned to wish for less. These days he was happy if he and Sam were in an actual house on Christmas in stead of somewhere out in the open, hunting something that wanted them to never see another Christmas. A tree was as ludicrous a notion as tap dancing naked down a city street in broad daylight singing “All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth”. Let alone cooking a whole damn turkey for the two of them, since Dad was usually away on a hunt no matter the occasion. 

The gifts he and Sam exchanged now were always thoughtful, always practical. Gone were the days when Dean indulged in silly toys or comic books to put a smile on Sam’s face. Nowadays, a new pair of boots or a can of the extra expensive gun oil was as highly prized as any sentimental nonsense Dean could come up with. But, boy would he like to see a real, I’m-so-happy-I-never-expected-this smile, dimples, and sparkling eyes on Sam’s ridiculously sweet face. 

Well. Maybe next year. 

This year, Dean had bought Sam a new pair of gloves. Sam had been appropriately grateful and given Dean a spectacular hunting knife which took Dean’s breath away. It made him want to give Sam the other present. The one he wanted to give him every year but always chickened out on. In the end, he left it at the gloves and hugged his brother a little tighter than usual. 

Christmas came and went. So did New Years Eve, with Dean slicing another monster with his new knife, and Sam stitching him up in yet another motel room on the outskirts of a no name town somewhere in America. Sam’s gloves were already specked with Dean’s blood. Happy Fucking New Year. 

A week into February, they were settled for a few days in an unusually nice cabin on the fringe of a forest. The fireplace was a welcome change from the poorly heated motel rooms and trailers they had crashed in recently. So was the big ass bed Dean claimed the moment he saw it, leaving Sam to sleep on the somewhat short couch in the living room. Sam merely glared at him, making Dean smile evilly while taking dibs on the first shower. Sam’s grumbling just widened his smile. 

After a blessedly hot shower, Dean walked into the living room in a pair of boxers and a T-shirt to the smell of something savory cooking on the stove. He looked to the kitchen area and saw Sam stirring a pot with a huge wooden spoon. The motion made his hips wiggle a bit, and Dean couldn’t help a giggle. His mirth ended as soon as he realized he had actually giggled and not snorted derisively. His ears went red. Luckily, Sam didn’t seem to have noticed, so Dean pretended nothing had happened. 

“What’s cooking, little brother?”, he drawled while sauntering toward the stove and his hip-wiggling brother. Sam looked up whit a smile, clearly no longer bothered by Dean’s obnoxious behavior earlier. 

“Chicken curry. I shopped for it when you went to fill up the car in the last town.” He pointed to another pot, “That’s your favorite rice, too.” He looked up with that unguarded smile that was reserved for Dean, and just like always, it made a funny feeling fill up Dean’s entire being. A sort of soft, warm tingling from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He rarely admitted to himself what that feeling was. Just that it was all about Sam and the way that Dean knew to the core of his soul that he would always protect Sam at any cost. 

It made him think about that Christmas present he had wanted to give Sam for the past ten years. 

With a cough, he hastily retreated to the small table set for two. There was a lit candle in a short pewter candle holder in the middle of the table. It made that funny feeling stir up again, and Dean went to the bedroom to put on a pair of jeans. 

The meal was unexpectedly satisfying, leaving Dean both happily full and relaxed in a way he couldn’t remember having felt in months. Somehow it felt familiar and safe in a way he had only ever felt when it was just the two of them. It probably helped that the fire was crackling merrily, and snow was falling outside the windows, while Sam did the dishes without complaint, leaving Dean to sprawl on the couch taking in the scene. 

Goddamnit, Sam was beautiful. There, he thought it. And for the first time ever, it wasn’t immediately followed by a feeling of guilt and wrongness, crippling in its intensity for days, until he could finally convince himself that he had meant it in an innocent, brotherly way. Not this time. Right there, in that warm and cozy cabin, Dean came to terms with being in love with Sam. And having been in love with him for the most of their lives in one way or another. 

Dean knew for sure, the day he bought that special Christmas present. The three of them had left a town Sam had been particularly happy to stay in. He’d had a whole three months of high school in the same place and had obviously hoped for more. He had even made a few friends who he would have liked to get to know better, but once again Dad had uprooted everything and moved on within a few hours after Sam had left his friends in the schoolyard with a happy “See you tomorrow!” The look on his face on the drive, as Dean kept glancing at him in the rear view mirror, almost did Dean in. Sam wasn’t angry or pissy; he was sad. Dean couldn’t handle Sam sad. It wrenched his gut and made him feel desperately inadequate. He wanted to fix it, but didn’t know how. 

In the following weeks, Dean had tried to liven up Sam’s mood in all the ways he knew how. All of them fell short. 

On a sunny day in November, a month after leaving, Dean came across a stand that sold a funny mix of jewelry at a market in the town where he worked for a few weeks at a garage, owned by a man who owed Dad a favor. He was on his way to buy groceries for dinner when he spotted the small stand, tucked halfway behind a big oak tree. Maybe it was the white dream catcher hanging from a branch that caught his eye. He just knew he had to go check it out.  
A little old lady with pearls and feathers in her hair greeted him, but let him browse in peace. It was an odd assortment, but a special section caught his attention: Wolves’ teeth, feathers, coins with holes in them, gem stones, polished glass, seashells - everything dangling at the ends of leather strings in all colors. When he finally saw it, he knew he had to get it for Sam.  
It was a bird, carved in wood, resting inside a filigree heart. The spaces in the heart were big enough for the bird to escape at any time, but it seemed content there. Happy. Dean thought it was just the message for Sam: that he could be free wherever he was, if only he really felt it in his heart. That nothing could or should hold him back even though their lives were dedicated to a purpose which made them live such tumultuous lives. He wanted Sam to know that. That freedom was a feeling, not a circumstance.  
He pointed to the necklace, and the old lady let it drop into a green velvet drawstring bag. This would be the perfect Christmas present. 

“Lucky lady”, she said with a funny smile. Dean was perplexed. His face must have given him away, because the old lady chuckled and said: “Lore has it, that only true love lets one see the Winged Heart. When someone loves another more than life itself, he is allowed to see this symbol and bring it to the one his heart has chosen. The meaning behind it is far deeper than you know. You now only see it as what will help the one you love. In time, you will come to realize its true meaning, and you will no longer be afraid.”  
She chuckled again and let the bag drop into Dean’s stunned hands. What? True love? Yes, he loved Sam more than he loved breathing, but this was all a weird mistake. He shouldn’t have come here. The lady was probably a witch, she was certainly weirdly convincing. So much so that Dean didn’t even doubt her words. 

On the drive home, Dean managed to talk some sense into himself. Of course Sam was the love of his life. He was his little brother, to love and protect from whatever could possibly hurt him or make him unhappy. Even at seventeen with a whole lot of attitude. Of course. No shame in that. Dean was relieved. This was what that old lady must have meant. 

Nevertheless, that green drawstring bag rested at the bottom of his duffel for the next ten years. 

But right here, in that far away cabin, with his stomach full of food and his head and heart full of Sam, he decided it was time. He rose from the couch and went to get the small velvet pouch. It had lost some of its luster from all the handling around Christmas for the past ten years, but the bird in the heart was still as pretty as ever. He nodded to himself and went back into the living room. 

Sam was drying off the last pot with a dish towel. He looked so lovely in the warm light from the small lamp on the windowsill. His skin golden and a small smile on his lips. Dean took the last few steps and held out the small velvet bag for Sam. 

“I got this for you a while back. Just never got around to give it to you.” Sam looked at him, surprised. It wasn’t every day presents were given without occasion. “It’s nothin’ special, just...something I wanted you to have.” Sam now looked even more intrigued, but Dean didn’t have second thoughts. It was high time. He knew in his heart that if Sam understood the true meaning behind the gift, he wouldn’t be mad. Surprised, of course, but not mad or disgusted. Dean had no idea how he knew this. He just did. And as with everything about that present, it made perfect sense in all its nonsensicalness, and Dean just went with it. 

“Wow,” Sam chuckled. “Must’ve been a long while back judging from the state of this bag.” Was he blushing? Dean couldn’t tell from the low lighting and the way Sam’s hair fell in his face. 

When the necklace dropped into Sam’s hand, Dean was sure he heard him gasp. When Sam finally looked up into Dean’s eyes, Sam’s own were suspiciously shiny. He looked completely overwhelmed and somehow...hopeful? 

“Dean.” Sam swallowed, his Adam’s apple bopping in his long, graceful column of a throat. “This is the Winged Heart.” He shook his head, seemingly full of conflicting emotions. Dean just let him be, having given himself up to fate, finally. “Dean, does this mean what I think it means...?” The hope in his eyes was unmistakable, and Dean wished he had found the courage years ago. But he already knew that this was the right time. That the stars must have somehow aligned and created this impossible moment, where Sam knew exactly what he had been given. 

Dean just nodded. 

Sam was on him in a second, cradling Dean’s face in his big, beautiful hands, tilting it just enough so that their lips could finally meet. 

Dean had never actually thought this far. Had never allowed himself. Which proved to be a good thing, since he would never have been able to imagine how perfect it was. They fit together like he had never fit with anyone. Everything clicked into place - their bodies, their minds, this moment in time. 

When their mouths parted, and they stood there just staring into each other, trembling like leaves, Dean swallowed once and said: “That couch is probably too short for you. We should just share the bed.”

End.


End file.
